


Silver Rings

by mveloc



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-07-01
Packaged: 2018-02-07 00:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1878108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mveloc/pseuds/mveloc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"I dreamt of you, you know."</em> <strong>Post 2x10.</strong> Delphine heads to Frankfurt, but she's unable to let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Rings

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** After watching the finale, I felt compelled to write this. I want a happy resolution to the Frankfurt debacle, so here it is! Hopefully this helps with the hiatus. The title is inspired by the Majical Cloudz song, "Silver Rings." Totally gives me Cophine feels, especially after the finale. Enjoy!

She always thought she would be happy to be back in Europe. North America had been an interesting experience, rewarding in too many ways to count, but she often found herself missing the old charm that was only found east of the Atlantic; she missed the architecture, the sights and smells, the food, the culture. Theoretically, she should be ecstatic to be back in Europe, where she’s only a train ride away from the friends and family she left back home and the life that existed for her before DYAD.

Theoretically.

She thinks of Kira, locked away in a deceptively pink dungeon. She thinks of Sarah, strapped to a gurney with doctors cutting into her. She thinks of Rachel, sitting smug behind her desk. Most of all, she thinks of Cosima. Almost every night she sees her, pale and fragile, her lips chapped and skin clammy, complete with cannula and scratchy hospital bedsheets. When she licks her lips, she tastes the remnants of copper kisses and when she inhales, she smells nag champa and antiseptic, familiar yet sterile.

She always thought she would be happy to be back in Europe, but the problem is that she isn’t _really_ in Europe at all. Even as she sits in the back of the limo, watching houses and shops whiz by her as she heads for DYAD’s Frankfurt facility, for another meaningless day of work, her mind is elsewhere, playing hooky with her heart.

With Cosima.

That’s where it’s always been. 

It’s where, she realizes, it will always be.

It’s been two months since she was banished from Toronto, from Cosima and the project in its entirety. She had tried to fight, but Rachel’s sway was just too great. She threatened to walk away altogether, but they dangled Cosima’s life in front of her as leverage, threatening to withhold treatment, and so she reluctantly boarded the plane to Germany, her eyes bloodshot and cheeks tear-stained. She was used to plane rides, having ridden them all over the world for work, and she was usually able to settle into a light slumber and sleep away the miles. That time, however, there was no false sense of comfort; she stared blankly out the window, fighting the nausea that had settled in her stomach, the nausea that lingered even after the plane had touched down in Frankfurt, even after she’d settled into her new position and new apartment. 

The nausea never subsided.

She had been warned against making any sort of contact with her ailing lover, the threat of Cosima’s life, once again, far too real. Even though she conceded to their gutting demands, she was certain that the dreadlocked clone would not have any of it. However, her number had been disconnected, her e-mail account frozen, making virtually any attempt by Cosima to reach her a dead end. All she could do was hold onto the hope that she would one day see the clone again, once the chaos of Project Leda had been purged from their lives. She wasn’t sure when that day would come or if it was even possible, but she had to maintain the fantasy; it was the only thing that got her out of bed in the morning.

 

\+ + + + + + + + + + + + + 

 

“Why don’t you just go to Germany?”

She sighs, slamming her laptop shut in frustration.

“It’s not that easy, Sarah.”

“Why not?”

Sarah has a way of oversimplifying things. She’s all flash and fire, black and white, yes and no. The word “maybe” simply doesn’t exist in her vocabulary, the colour gray nonexistent in her pallet. She doesn’t understand why Cosima can’t simply hop on the next plane to Frankfurt and find the woman she’s been pining over for the last eight months.

“I don’t even know if she’s still there,” Cosima says, attempting to justify her hesitation. “It’s been eight months. They could have transferred her somewhere else by now. Her number’s been disconnected and so has her e-mail. I have no way of contacting her and... and she hasn’t tried to contact me.”

The last part is painful for her to say. She had expected some sort of effort on the blonde’s part. Anything at all, really; an e-mail, a phone call, a text. Hell, even a blank postcard from Germany would have sufficed, just to let her know that she was still alive, still thinking about her. Instead, she was met by static and silence.

“That’s probably because she has DYAD breathing down her neck, yeah?” Sarah offers.

“Maybe. Or maybe... maybe she’s moved on with her life.”

Felix laughs in the background, setting his paint brush down and sauntering over to them with a bottle of vodka in hand, taking a large, liberal swig.

“We all know that’s not true,” he says.

Cosima shrugs. 

She’s unsure of what to make of Delphine’s disappearance. For the first few months of the French woman’s absence, she was so focused on her own disease that she hadn’t had much time to try and track Delphine down. Rachel had destroyed Kira’s bone marrow, but the combination of Duncan’s synthetic sequences and the embryos Helena left behind was everything she needed; she hadn’t expected DYAD to help her at all, considering what went down between Rachel and Sarah, but the proclone took a leave of absence (crawling away to lick her wounds, undoubtedly) and it was Marion Bowles who had been instrumental in facilitating her treatment. After a couple of months, Duncan’s gene therapy was a success and for the first time in far too long, she shed the oxygen tank, took a deep breath and was reborn. With a clean bill of health, she could finally focus her attention on finding her absent girlfriend.

“Look, I’m not saying she’s perfect,” Felix begins, plopping down next to her on the couch and resting a supportive hand on her knee. “I think I’ve made my feelings about your girlfriend abundantly clear, but she does love you, Cosima. Even I can admit that.”

“Okay. What if she hasn’t moved on. What if I haven’t heard from her because she’s... she’s...”

“Don’t go there, Cos,” Sarah warns her sternly.

“How would I know? Look how they dealt with Leekie! Delphine sent me Rachel’s itinerary, she gave Scott her pass card to help bust you out, she’s partially responsible for you jamming Rachel’s eye out. What if Rachel... what she had her killed? We all know that DYAD doesn’t just let people walk away. What if... what if...”

“Bloody hell! Just stop it, alright? Stop torturing yourself!”

She grows quiet, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“Let’s just say I agree with you. Let’s say I go to Frankfurt. How the hell am I supposed to find her? Frankfurt’s, like, kind of a big place.”

Sarah glances over to Felix, arching an eyebrow.

“Maybe we can help with that.”

“We can?” he asks suspiciously.

“Mrs. S. might be able to dig something up,” Sarah suggests.

Felix nods.

“Oh. That’s true. I don’t know how, but dear old mumsie just _knows shit_. If anyone can find Delphine, it’s her and her bloody birdwatchers.”

“You think?” Cosima asks, her characteristic optimism returning to her voice.

“I’ll make the call.”

 

\+ + + + + + + + + + + + + 

 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, Delphine? You haven’t been yourself since you’ve returned.”

She twirls her wine glass in her hand, watching its crimson contents swirl around, sloshing off the sides. When she finally raises her eyes to meet her mother’s skeptical gaze, she places the glass on the table next to her plate of barely touched dinner. Since she began living in Frankfurt, she’s made a greater attempt at keeping in touch with her family; dinner with her mother, once a month. Their dinners usually consist of nothing but pleasantries and awkward silence. Her mother shares frivolous gossip, reminisces about her father, and Delphine smiles and nods. Every now and then, her mother will ask her about her work and she’ll give a very surface, unenthused explanation of what she’s working on. After their third dinner, her mother abandoned all questions about her personal life, realizing what a hopeless pursuit it was.

“I left someone behind in Canada,” she finally confesses.

It took her eight dinners before she was finally able to confide in her mother. Perhaps it was because she was finally beginning to lose hope that she would ever see Cosima again. It was easy to pretend like things were fine at first; she could pretend that Cosima was getting her treatment, like Rachel promised, and that she would eventually be well again, that she would be able to return to Toronto and see her. But as the months went on, she realized just how unrealistic this delusion really was. Even if Cosima was still alive, so long as DYAD had anything to say about it, she was certain she’d never see her cheeky girl again.

“I figured as much,” her mother replies with a deep sigh, lighting up a cigarette. “What’s his name?”

She stares down at her plate, smiling, etching trails through her untouched mashed potatoes which eventually take the shape of a (very poorly drawn) double helix.

“Cosima.”

Just whispering her name brings a smile to her lips. She realizes that she hasn’t said her name out loud since she boarded the plane. Her confession is a weight off her chest, a moment in time encapsulated; she had almost forgotten the feel of each syllable as they rolled off her tongue, but now that she’s reminded, she feels like shouting her name from the mountaintops, branding it into her skin forever.

“Cosima? What kind of name is that? Is he Greek?” her mother asks, exhaling a puff of blue smoke through her nose.

Delphine’s smile grows a little wider. She closes her eyes, able to see Cosima’s face so clearly behind her lids. She can see her gesturing hands, the poke of her tongue from behind her teeth after she’s said something witty, the scrunch of her nose as she adjusts her glasses. It’s all so vivid, so fresh in her mind.

“ _She_ ,” Delphine corrects. “She’s from San Francisco.”

She says nothing else. 

Neither does her mother.

She periodically sips on her wine, watching her mother from over the rim. She allows the older woman to finish her cigarette in quiet contemplation. As her mother reaches for her pack and lights up another one, Delphine finally meets her gaze again.

“Are you upset?” she asks.

“No,” her mother shrugs. “This is just... unexpected. I never knew you liked women.”

“I didn’t,” Delphine replies, almost laughing. “I don’t. I like _a_ woman. I _love a_ woman.”

Her mother nods in understanding.

“If you love her so much, why did you leave her?”

Delphine shakes her head.

“I had to. I was transferred to Germany. I didn’t have a say in the matter.”

“And what about her? She couldn’t come with you?”

She grows much more somber.

“No.”

“She wasn’t willing to leave her life behind to be with you?”

She shakes her head again.

“That’s... that’s not it, Maman,” she says, barely above a whisper.

She runs a hand through her hair and releases a long, solemn sigh. She can no longer meet her mother’s gaze and the older woman takes note, stubbing out her cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the table.

“What aren’t you telling me, Delphine?”

She chews on her bottom lip, her eyes brimming with tears. She tries to hold them back, but a few vagrant ones spill out, tracing hot streaks down her cheeks.

“She’s very sick, Maman,” she chokes out.

“Sick? How so?” her mother asks.

She tentatively reaches out across the table, grasping Delphine’s hand gently, attempting to comfort her only child. They haven’t had this sort of intimate contact with one another since her father died.

“Cancer?”

“Not exactly. It’s hard to explain,” Delphine replies, sniffling back the tears. “It’s... a type of autoimmune disease. I had been working on finding a cure for it in Toronto.”

“And did you?”

Delphine releases a long sigh.

“Possibly. There was a breakthrough, but I was sent away before she could begin treatment.”

“And how is her treatment going?”

Delphine pauses, inhaling a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. She grips her mother’s hand a little tighter.

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her since I left. I don’t even know if she’s getting the treatment at all, or if she’s...”

“Why not?”

“It’s complicated, Maman. I can’t explain it all to you.”

The sound of her mother’s retrained laughter catches her completely off guard. She stares blankly at her mother, blinking a couple of times, trying to figure out the source of her amusement.

“What? What’s so funny? Why are you laughing at me?” she asks defensively.

Her mother just smiles, patting her hand.

“My darling, everyone thinks that _their_ love is the most complicated thing in the world.”

“My love is complicated,” Delphine protests.

“Delphine, love is a very simple thing, really.”

The blonde rolls her eyes, a trait she’s undoubtedly picked up from a great deal of time spent in Cosima’s presence. Her mother draws her hand back and uses it to lift her own glass of wine to her lips as Delphine sinks a little lower in her chair.

“You’re the scientist. Isn’t it your job to look at the truth objectively?” her mother asks.

“Okay. And what is the objective truth, since you seem to know more about my relationship than I do,” Delphine throws.

Her mother chuckles again, finishing her wine.

“The truth is easy. You love this woman. She loves you. You both need each other.”

And just like that, the slender blonde stops sulking. She sits up a little straighter, her brow furrowing, as if the thought has never crossed her mind before, at least not as concisely as her mother had put it.

“Delphine, when Papa died, it made me realize a lot of things. It made me realize how much time I wasted, like how frustrated I used to get over _nothing_ , how I missed out on so much because I was afraid, or because I could never just let anything be simple. Your father was nothing like that. He wasn’t as stubborn as I am. He used to say I had a tendency to blow things out of proportion, to make everything messier than it had to be. I used to get so angry with him for not understanding. Then I realized that he _did_ understand. He understood something that I just couldn’t. Not until I was losing him.”

The doctor’s eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears. She’s never heard her mother speak of her father like this. She talks about him often, telling stories of how they met, their first date, their honeymoon, or stories from when Delphine was just a baby and too young to remember herself. However, she’s never seen her mother be quite so contemplative before. Her father’s death has truly changed her, only she’s been so preoccupied with her work to notice.

“In the end, all of the messiness, the strain, the convoluted feelings... they just melt away. Only the important things remain,” her mother emphasizes, pouring herself and her daughter another glass of wine.

Delphine nods silently.

“Whatever these “complicated” forces in your life are, they’ll work themselves out eventually. They always do. What you have to decide is whether or not you’ll be where it matters, with the one who matters, when they finally do. Or will you be trapped, wishing you were braver, wishing you were _better_?”

“Maman...”

Despite being a thirty year-old woman with a PhD and the (interim) director of the DYAD Institute, she somehow feels sixteen again. There are some things that no amount of schooling, no amount of hours spent hunched over a microscope or sorting through samples, can ever teach you. She realized this for the first time during her days spent with Cosima, and she’d nearly forgotten it until her mother had reminded her.

“You are a brave woman, Delphine,” her mother says. “That is the woman Papa and I raised you to be. You’ve spent so much time distracting yourself with your science and your medicine, trying to please everyone around you, trying to _fix_ everything. You’ve never stopped to focus on your own needs. You’ve never tried to fix yourself.”

As much as she hates being psychoanalyzed by her mother -- by the woman who believes in love at first sight and miracles and fate, who’s skeptical of vaccinations and stem cells but still believes in the power of prayer -- Emilie Cormier’s words are _necessary_. Cosima always teased her about being a puppy, about being so eager to please and help and seek approval. She used to scoff and shrug it off as a joke, but she sees now that ever since she began pursuing her PhD, she’s done nothing but distract herself with the science. 

The science was important. The science was engaging. The science was her passion. But it wasn’t everything. Not anymore. She’d filled the void in her life with the likes of Darwin and Pasteur, but they were simply plugs, keeping the world from flooding in. When she’d met Cosima, those plugs had disappeared; the cheeky girl had ripped them out and taught her that it was okay to swim, to get a little water in her lungs, to get swept up in the overwhelming force of things.

_“You’ll be fine. Puppy’s can swim. You can always doggy paddle your way to the other side,”_ she could almost hear Cosima tease.

“Perhaps this woman, your Cosima,” her mother adds, disrupting her from her thoughts. “Perhaps she’s just what you need to do that.”

Finally, Delphine smiles again. A genuine smile. Perhaps the first one since she left Toronto.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I’m your mother. I’m always right.”

 

\+ + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

As she exits the train station, her mother’s words play on repeat in her head. Cosima had been so brave, it was time she showed some courage of her own. She has no way of knowing whether or not Cosima is still alive, but the thought doesn’t deter her. Dead or alive, she knows she needs to go back, to make peace, before she can move on. If Cosima is dead, she needs to say a proper goodbye; if she is still alive, she needs to hold her again, to apologize, to make verbal everything that stirs beneath her skin.

The car ride home seems impossibly long. All she can think about is booking her ticket, boarding the next available plane to Toronto, throwing a bunch of shit in a bag and just _running_. At least this time, she’d be running towards something rather than away. The limo stops in front of her building, as usual, and she’s quick to climb out, slinging her bag over her shoulder and beginning her ascent up the stairs. It’s a pretty small complex and old in character, only six floors, so the climb doesn’t bother her in the least. DYAD had initially put her up in a super modern penthouse suite, but she found herself unable to live there; everything felt thick and tainted and she couldn’t be sure if the apartment was bugged or not, so she’d moved again fairly quickly after settling into her new position. She’d found an apartment that had an old charm, one that reminded her of Cosima’s apartment back in Minnesota. It was, perhaps, her last bastion of simpler times, of better days.

She reaches her floor, gliding gracefully down the hallway. She removes her bag from her shoulder, clutching it in her arms as she fumbles with the zipper on the side, trying to slide it open and find her keys. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees movement, so she lifts her head to inspect. 

“Uh. Hey.”

She drops her bag, standing frozen in place as her wide eyes soak in the familiar figure standing in front of the door to her apartment. She blinks once, twice, three times. She thinks she might be hallucinating, but when she opens her eyes again, she’s still standing there, a lopsided grin on her face, her posture catlike. Gone is is the paleness, the oxygen tank; born again is the glimmer in her eyes, the blush in her cheeks. Without a second thought, she stalks forward, capturing Cosima’s face between her hands and pulling her forward roughly until their lips clash together. It takes the shorter woman no time at all to respond, her mouth parting to welcome the heat like an old friend’s embrace.

She hasn’t kissed Cosima like this in nearly a year; once her illness really set in, the clone was short of breath and weak of touch almost constantly and their affection was limited to gentle pecks and the brushing of fingers over skin. Her lips no longer taste of blood and her hands no longer tremble as she backs her up, stopping when the clone’s back makes contact with her door.

“Delphine,” she breathes, their lips finally parting.

“Please,” Delphine pleads, gripping her tightly. “Please tell me you’re real.”

Cosima smiles, caressing the taller girl’s chin.

“I’m real. I promise.”

Her eyes are brimming with tears as she accepts Cosima’s answer with more lips, hands sliding beneath that familiar red coat, desperate to remove it. She grips Cosima’s waist tightly and pulls her even closer, prepared to take her right against the door; it’s been so long, she can think of nothing else in the moment.

“We should... go... inside,” Cosima manages between kisses.

Delphine nods, but makes no attempt to break away and retreat towards her now forgotten bag to retrieve her keys. Instead, her hands reach for the buttons of Cosima’s blouse, beginning at the top and undoing them one by one.

“I guess you’re, like, really excited to see me, huh?”

She silences her once again with her lips, but when her fingers find the final button and pop it open, Cosima’s hands go to her wrists and stop her.

“Seriously, though. I don’t wanna get, like, deported for fucking in public. Your neighbours were already giving me the shifty eye before you got here.”

Delphine breaks contact for a brief instant, darting a few feet away to scoop up her bag. She opens the side pocket, finding her key and fumbling as she slips it into the lock, pushing the door open and allowing Cosima to step inside ahead of her. Cosima picks up her own bag, venturing inside the inner sanctum. She tosses her bag to the side and her eyes wander around the tiny but comfortable apartment, taking in as much detail as possible. She has never seen Delphine’s apartment, not when they were living in Minnesota or Toronto. She always wondered what the French woman’s space would look like and for the first time, she’s catching a brief glimpse of it. It’s all very meticulous, unlike Cosima’s own quarters; every book is neatly placed on large, oak bookshelves and organized alphabetically. She has a few paintings hanging from her walls, none Cosima can readily identify, as well as a Persian rug and a leather couch in her living room that immediately evokes a sly grin from the clone. Even her desk, the surface of which is concealed by journals and papers, is organized in such a way that is foreign to the messy girl’s mind.

Her exploration is cut short when she hears the door slam behind her and Delphine’s hands wrap around her waist, pulling the dreadlocked clone into herself. She presses slow, wet kisses to the back of Cosima’s neck, eliciting tiny shivers and quiet sighs.

“ _Mon amor_ ,” she whispers, nipping at her ear. “I missed you too much.”

Cosima turns in the slender woman’s arms, wrapping her own around Delphine’s neck.

“I know,” she says, brushing noses with the blonde. “I thought I was gonna die without you.”

She pauses, realizing the reality of her words, and then she laughs.

“Okay. I thought I was gonna die _even more_.”

Delphine smiles. _This_ is the Cosima she’s missed; the bubbly, eccentric girl who laughs at her own death sentence, the very same death sentence she conquered with her brilliant mind and sheer force of will. She captures Cosima’s lips again, but this time, their kiss is much slower, much softer. Her thumb brushes over the clone’s cheekbone tenderly and they break apart, each searching the other’s expression.

“ _Je t’aime_ ,” Cosima says with a grin, trying her best to imitate Delphine’s accent.

Even though she says it in a joking manner, there’s a sincerity in her voice that makes Delphine’s eyes gloss over with tears. She presses her forehead to Cosima’s, breathing deeply, biting on her bottom lip in an attempt to keep the sobs at bay.

“I love you, too.”

She slowly helps Cosima out of her coat, watching it fall to the ground and pool at her feet, followed by her blouse. Cosima presses a kiss to her neck, then helps her out of her own coat and top, the sheer white fabric disappearing with a simple toss. The blonde’s hands skim up the petite woman’s sides, re-familiarizing herself with Cosima’s frame. She’s managed to gain back some of the weight that she lost with her illness; she was always taut and lean, but her disease slowly reduced her to a pile of pale bones. She remembers Cosima undressing in front of her, quietly self-conscious, attempting to hide her jutting ribcage as she slipped into one of her comfy wool sweaters. Delphine never said a word, but it was impossible not to notice.

“Take me to bed,” she murmurs hot against her ear. “Help me get rid of this jet lag.”

She leads Cosima into her bedroom. Once inside, they make quick work of the remainder of their clothing, shedding fabric left and right until they’re both completely bare. Cosima crawls onto the bed, attempting the pull the covers back and slip beneath them, but Delphine catches her by the waist before she can do so.

“I want to see you,” she says huskily, pulling Cosima back into her.

She hears the clone attempt to stifle her moan as her ass connects with Delphine’s thighs. She then wraps an arm around Cosima’s throat, gently forcing her up into a kneeling position. She presses herself into Cosima’s back, her nipples erect against the American’s smooth skin.

“I want to feel you.”

She reaches, cupping Cosima’s breasts, filling her palms with the weight of supple skin. Cosima gasps loudly, then groans as Delphine works her thumbs over hardened nipples, kneading gently. She nibbles at the American’s lobe.

“I want to taste you. _Chaque pouce_.”

Cosima turns to face her, her lids heavy, eyes hooded with desire. She finds Delphine’s mouth, her kiss hungry and aggressive and the blonde lowers them until she’s draped overtop the brunette, running her hand up and down Cosima’s thigh, her tongue deftly exploring the contours of her mouth. The clone is sweeter than she remembers, somehow softer. She moans against Delphine’s lips-- a moan that is easily swallowed-- when she feels the French woman’s fingers begin teasing at her wetness.

“I’ve missed this,” she purrs.

“Me, too. Clearly,” Cosima sighs, pulling Delphine’s head back down into another lip lock.

Every flick of her clit, every long, broad stroke of skillful fingers through her slit sends another surge of wetness between her legs, one the doctor can noticeably feel. She spills out, her arousal leaking down her legs, staining her inner thighs and the sheets beneath her. Satisfied, Delphine finally slips a couple of fingers inside and they both moan loudly when Cosima clenches around her.

“ _Shit_. Delphine...”

She sinks her teeth into Cosima’s neck, leaving bright red indentations on olive skin, stealing yet another sharp gasp from the clone’s fully functioning lungs. As her fingers continue to work, her lips fall lower, determined to pull even more moans and gasps and sighs from the brunette’s mouth. It’s been so long since she’s been able to hear Cosima unobstructed; every moan was always muffled by the sound of fluid bubbling in her lungs, every whimper scratchy and abrasive as it left her throat. She can _hear_ Cosima’s health now, taste it on her skin, feel it squeezing around her fingers. It’s all she’s ever wanted, all she’s been able to dream of since Cosima’s confession of her illness.

Her lips skim past her breasts, her tongue taking a moment to toy with an overly-sensitive nipple before descending even lower to join her fingers. She forces Cosima’s thighs even further apart and withdraws her fingers. She’s met by a protesting whine, one that is quickly silenced when she begins lapping greedily at Cosima’s core, causing the clone to arch and buck against her.

“ _Fuck_!” she squeals, trying her hardest to keep her voice down.

She doesn’t want to wake the entire building, but it’s been nearly a year since the blonde has touched her like this, teased her like this, tasted her like this. The sex isn’t the thing she misses most about her girlfriend, but it isn’t until Delphine’s face is buried snuggly between her legs that she realizes how amazing it is, how she missed being treated like a woman and a lover and not a patient, how she missed having this sort of visceral connection with another human being.

As Delphine reintroduces her fingers, Cosima slowly feels herself beginning to come undone. A stinging heat creeps over her skin, followed by a sheen of sweat and a current of electricity flowing freely through every cell in her body. She threads her fingers through Delphine’s messy curls, gripping the back of the doctor’s skull tightly, panting heavily, remembering what it feels like to have her lungs filled to the brim with oxygen instead of polyps. It’s a sweet freedom, one she revels in almost as much as Delphine’s mouth. Her release is sharp and slow, going off in tiny explosions under her skin, fireworks behind her eyes. She feels transcendent and alive, more so than she has since she fell ill, and the sheer ferocity of it brings tears to her eyes and a wail to her chest. Even long after her orgasm subsides, with the weight of Delphine’s body pressed against her, peppering her jawline with gentle kisses, she can’t stop the tears.

“ _Mon coeur_ ,” the French woman whispers, brushing a tear away.

“I’m sorry,” Cosima replies with a sweet smile. “It’s just... I’m happy.”

“Me, too,” Delphine agrees. “I think this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Really?”

“ _Oui_. For a long time, I never thought I’d see you again. To have you here right now, healthy, _alive_... it makes me happier than I could ever say.”

Cosima’s smile widens into a Cheshire cat grin. She shifts the two of them so that she’s on top, staring down at her monitor with an unadulterated passion. The blonde takes a mental snapshot, wanting peel the look right off the clone’s face and seal it away in some sort of vault so it can live forever, unaffected by the weariness of life. The brunette finally lowers her lips to Delphine’s and they meet softly. The kiss is chaste, but it lingers as Cosima stealthily slips her thigh between Delphine’s.

“Show, don’t tell.”

 

\+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + 

 

The sun rises over the skyline, seeping in through the bedroom window. The curtains are drawn part way, leaving enough space for a ray of light to shine through and paint golden honey on the clone’s back as she lay blanketing the doctor, periodically pressing small kisses to her chest. Both exhausted and satisfied, they’ve spent the better part of an hour sitting in silence, enjoying each other’s closeness and the early hours of the morning.

“I dreamt of you, you know.”

Her words bring Delphine out of her silent stupor. She peels her eyes from the ceiling, gazing down at the starry-eyed woman resting her chin atop her sternum, grinning like a child with a particularly juicy secret.

“Really?” she asks, smiling.

“I had this vision. It was weird. Like, next level shit.”

“What did you see?”

Cosima shifts, rolling over next to Delphine and reclining on her back. She’s the one staring at the ceiling now, her gaze penetrating through the plaster, drifting straight into the cosmos. Delphine turns onto her side and watches her, intrigued.

“You came to me,” she begins.

Her voice is low and serious. In fact, she can’t recall ever hearing the quirky young woman ever take such a serious tone before. Everything about Cosima, from her voice to her posture to the very core of her being is playful and flirtatious. The blonde realizes how much being faced with her own mortality has really changed the shimmering clone.

“I was ready, Delphine. God, I was _so ready_ to let go, to let it all fade away,” she continues, her voice wavering. “I’d made my peace and then... you were just... _there_.”

Her eyes fill with tears and Delphine sits up, allowing herself a better view. She’s never seen such vulnerability in another human being before, such passion and intensity and strength and desperation.

“You told me not to be afraid. You said you’d never leave me. And just like that, I was back again.”

As she finishes her tale, Delphine reaches for her, tilting her head to seek out her lips with her own. They brush together and Cosima sighs, allowing herself to sink into the kiss. She wraps her arms around the smaller girl and pulls her as close as possible, until their bodies are virtually melded together.

“I won’t ever leave you, Cosima,” Delphine emphasizes. “There isn’t a day that’s gone by that my heart and my mind haven’t been with you.”

“I know.”

Her wandering hand seeks out Delphine’s and their fingers intertwine. They both watch as their digits dance their familiar dance, one that always brings a smile to both their faces. The blonde raises Cosima’s to her mouth and kisses her palm firmly.

“You know, I was going to come to Toronto,” she mumbles into her hand.

“Yeah?”

“I was at my mother’s. I told her about you.”

Cosima smiles.

“And how did she take the news of her newly lesbi-fied daughter?”

“Better than I thought,” Delphine laughs, holding Cosima’s arm taut so that her lips can continue exploring the length of it. “She didn’t seem to care all that much. She just knew that I was unhappy here. She told me that I should go and be with you.”

“I like your mother,” Cosima quips.

They both giggle for the first time in ages, since Cosima had fulfilled her promise and gotten her “completely baked” in their lab, with her helium voice and corny jokes. Of course, just hours later, she was struck down by a seizure and there was no more room for laughter, but Delphine often yearned for it anyway.

“I spent so long being afraid. Then I realized that I wasted so much time being afraid for you, I might have lost you completely.”

Cosima reclaims her arm from Delphine’s lips, bringing her hand up to brush a few golden tresses away from her eyes.

“You could never lose me, Delphine,” she says sincerely. “Unless, of course, you feel like ripping anymore teeth out of Kira’s mouth, injecting them into my uterus and not telling me. Aside from that, I think we’re cool.”

They’re laughing again and the monitor playful swats the clone in the arm. The brunette feigns injury, holding her arm and trying her best to moan in pain between the bursts of laughter. This only earns her yet another smack.

“What’s with this abuse?” she asks incredulously. “How does the Hippocratic oath go? “First do no harm?” Something like that? I almost died a few months ago and here you are, trying to kill me again. Some kind of doctor you are.”

She continues to toy with her girlfriend, laughing and rolling and attempting to slip out of Delphine’s tight grasp. Every time she finds a little bit of distance, the blonde pulls her back in even closer than before, nipping at her ear. The joking eventually subsides and Delphine takes the opportunity to trace Cosima’s jawline with her middle finger, studying the clone carefully. Cosima clones her eyes, leaning into the touch.

“How?” Delphine asks.

“Hm?” Cosima responds, her eyes opening again.

Delphine shakes her head, smiling. She kisses the brunette firmly, her hand cupping Cosima’s face. She slides her tongue between inviting lips and is met by Cosima’s own, the two mingling with one another in such a skillful way. When they part for air, Cosima’s teeth tug gently on her lower lip, hesitant to let go, but they eventually do and she’s rewarded with a smile.

“How are you so... how are you _you_?”

“You tell me, Doctor Cormier. You’re my monitor, the one whose been researching me all this time. You of all people should know how I came into existence.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Delphine mutters.

Cosima shrugs, then turns over onto her side. She pulls Delphine’s arm over her, tucking it between her own as the French woman scoots a little closer, spooning the smaller woman from behind. She nuzzles Cosima’s ear, resting her head in the crook of her neck.

“It’s not the genes, Cosima. It’s not the biology. It’s not the science,” she whispers.

“Blasphemy,” Cosima mumbles, closing her heavy eyes.

It’s _her_. 

What she is is so much more than all of that. What she is _defies_ all of that. She understood this the second she first lay eyes upon Cosima, although she couldn’t exactly explain it right then and there. Even now, she has trouble finding the perfect words for it. She hopes that one day she will. For now, she’s satisfied with sleeping, with her cheeky girl nestled up close and keeping them warm, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest as her lungs deflate then inflate again, steadily, for the first time in far too long to remember. 

For the first time, they have time on their side.

She intends to make use of every second.


End file.
